Battery Charges and Cowboy Boots
by Corky the Quirk
Summary: Charlie Dalton is sent to a treatment program in the countryside of Vermont after being charged with juvenile battery...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is for my loverly, Blackbirdox. What happens after Charlie gets kicked out of Welton.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DPS.

* * *

><p>Charlie Dalton hadn't wanted his father to shell out a generous donation to get him back into Welton. But he wouldn't deny the fact that he was surprised when his parents didn't write a check to bail him out.<p>

Instead, he stood up in court and clenched his jaw as he was charged with juvenile battery against a Mr. Richard Cameron.

He gulped, pursing his lips as he was sentenced with six months of work at a treatment facility in the country.

As a ranch hand.

When he was a young boy, Charlie had played cowboys and Indians numerous times with Knox and Neil and Meeks. He had enjoyed dressing up in boots and plaid. Hell, he had shouted "yee-hah" too many times to count.

He just never thought any of his childhood fantasies would come true.

And he definitely did not think he'd be surrounded by other juvenile delinquents when it did.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> ...I have a thing for prologues?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Yey for Charlie getting to meet a few of his fellow delinquents!

**Disclaimer:** I have borrowed quite a few characters from other fandoms. The full list will be at the end of the chapter. All others belong to me.

* * *

><p>Charlie sat silently in the passenger seat of the Ford Ranger. Red Meszoly, the owner of the Hudson Vermont Juvenile Ranch, had picked him up about an hour ago at the train station. Ever since, they'd been driving further and further away from civilization. Charlie sighed audibly, leaning his forehead against the cool window. It wasn't a particularly sunny day, and the ground was damp from rain the night before. The sky was a light grey, threatening to darken and pour.<p>

Mud squished beneath the tires of the old truck as Red pulled into the long, winding drive that would eventually deposit them at the ranch. "You know, Chaz—"

"Charlie."

Red glanced over at Charlie, raising an eyebrow. "You know, Chaz," he started again, causing Charlie to groan. "These next few months aren't going to be as horrible as you seem to think."

Charlie rolled his eyes as he glared at the damp landscape. "And why is that?" he nearly snarled, flinching when they hit a rather deep pot-hole.

Red smacked his lips, shifting gears and making the truck lurch. "They'll go fast. The work is tough, but we give you time to relax and get to know the other kids."

Charlie snorted. "Because putting criminals together is a great idea."

Red took a deep breath. "You're not bad kids. You've just made some bad choices."

"Do you have a Cliché-of-the-Day calendar?" Charlie scoffed.

Red ignored the boy's sarcasm for the rest of the drive, shifting into park and stepping from the vehicle. Charlie grabbed his duffel, slinging it over his arm and following Red over to a tiny shack of a building. Red glanced over his shoulder at Charlie before pushing the door open. "Chaz, I'd like you to meet Mr. Sir. He's in charge of all of you juveniles while you're here."

Charlie momentarily glared at the ceiling. "My name is Charlie," he ground between his teeth before glancing down at Mr. Sir, which Charlie thought was an awfully odd name.

Mr. Sir, a gruff-looking man, stood from behind his desk. Apparently the shack was his office, filled with filing cabinets and a mini-fridge. "Take a seat," he ordered in a drawl, nodding at Red. "I'll take it from here."

"You always do," Red replied, tipping his hat and exiting the minute building, the sound of the Ford starting up assaulting the screened windows of Mr. Sir's office.

Charlie glanced around awkwardly before cautiously taking a seat in front of the desk. He laced his fingers together, drumming them on his stomach before meeting Mr. Sir's gaze. "Hi…" he randomly said, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat.

Mr. Sir blinked at him. "Right. So this is the Hudson Vermont Juvenile Ranch where you will be required to work for the next…" Mr. Sir flipped through the file in front of him. "…six months. Red doesn't make any of you troublemakers wear uniforms, but if your clothes get worn out there's plenty of plaid shirts and jeans laying around from previous delinquents." Mr. Sir stretched, leaning back in his chair, and scooted back, standing and heading for the door. "Follow me."

They stepped out of the building and into the drizzle of the afternoon, walking in the direction of a longer, newer looking building. "This is the bunkhouse, where you and the other boys stay," Mr. Sir informed Charlie, pushing the door open and plodding inside and over to an empty bunk. "This'll be your space."

Charlie dropped his bag on the bed and was about to check the place out when Mr. Sir ushered him right back outside. Apparently he wouldn't be able to have a look around until it was time for lights out, which Mr. Sir promptly reported as ten o'clock.

They passed a couple barns, which, as Mr. Sir explained, Charlie would be spending the duration of his days. The three barns were designated for horses, dairy cattle, and steers. Charlie would be assigned chores for each barn, or be appointed to get familiar with one. It was as they were passing the third and final barn—the one designated for horses— that a girl fell at their feet. Charlie stared in horror for a moment as the girl groaned, rolled onto her stomach, and stood up, wiping mud off of herself and shaking out her already dust-colored, shaggy hair.

She blinked up at the men in front of her, raising an eyebrow and shrugging. "Cobalt's having a bad day," she explained, nodding her head to her right, where an angry horse was standing at the fence, pawing at the ground and snorting. The girl had apparently flung herself from the pen to avoid being trampled.

Mr. Sir glanced at the horse, then back at the girl, before clapping his hand down on her shoulder. "This is Sam," Mr. Sir grunted. "She'll show you around."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that your job?"

The girl he'd just been introduced to let out a laugh, rolling her eyes and waving her hand vaguely. "He always pawns new kids off on me."

Charlie glanced between the two. "Always?"

Sam shrugged. "I've been here a while."

"And quite a few times," Mr. Sir added. "Sam, this is Chaz. Be nice."

Charlie glared at Mr. Sir, about to correct him when Sam spoke up.

Sam fluttered her lashes innocently. "When am I ever not nice, Mr. Sir?" she asked in a voice reminiscent to that of an angel's, although it was clearly false.

The larger man shook his head and turned away from the young delinquents, refusing to answer and muttering about how sarcastic teenagers were, as he wandered back to his stuffy, old office.

Sam shook her head at Mr. Sir. "No worries, we only see him about three times a day; otherwise he holes up in his little outhouse and does…who knows what." She shrugged her shoulders and turned around to face Charlie. "So, I take it you've seen most everything since you've made it this far?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah…I mean…we didn't actually go into any building and he didn't really show me much, but he said something about making our way to the main house?"

Sam bobbed her head. "The main house is where Red lives. We have all of our meals in their backyard on the picnic benches. Follow me," she instructed, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans and ambling towards the next—and final—building before what appeared to be the main house. "Now, when you go to enter the tack room—this lovely little building here—make sure you knock." Sam raised her fist and pounded brutally on the wooden door.

"Why?" Charlie asked, furrowing his brows in question.

Sam shoved the door open to reveal two disheveled, sloppily-pulled-together boys breathing extremely hard and looking incredibly guilty. "Because this is where everyone goes to fuck," Sam replied with a grin. She nodded to the two young men. "Spot. Race. You're gonna have to come back later or take it somewhere else. I gotta show Chaz around."

"It's Charlie!" Charlie groaned, clenching his fists at his sides.

"Huh. Red and Mr. Sir call you Chaz," Sam pointed out, pouting her lips and narrowing her eyes at Charlie in an analytical way.

Charlie took a deep breath. "Call me Charlie." He didn't want to even think back to the days when he had thought of being called Nuwanda. It brought back too any memories that he had worked so hard to bury. Maybe changing to 'Chaz' wouldn't be so bad.

Sam shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever, Charlie."

One of the boys stepped forward, running his thumbs up and down the red suspenders that hung over his shoulders, raking his eyes from Charlie's head to his toes. "New meat, huh?"

Sam held up a hand. "Whoa there Spot. I'm pretty sure he's straight."

Charlie's jaw dropped. "I'm right here! And yes, I'm straight."

The other boy, a dark-haired minute of a person, groaned. "The more you protest, the less we believe you." Both ragged boys had thick, over-exaggerated New York accents.

Charlie ran a hand through his hair and he glanced to the side. "I don't play for your team."

Spot laughed as Racetrack rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. Sam reached out, grabbing Spot by his suspenders and Race by the collar of his vest. "Out," she ordered.

"I love it when you're so rough with me," Race interjected playfully, while Spot added, "Gonna try your luck with him, Sammy?"

"Who says I need luck?" Sam retorted with a grin.

"Probably the officers that nabbed you hot-wiring all those cars," Race suggested before having the door slammed in his face.

Sam shrugged, blinking up at Charlie. "Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins," she offered as an explanation. She scanned the room, pointing out what Charlie would eventually need to find. "Saddles, bridles, halters, tack boxes, grooming boxes…"

Charlie stood, horrified. "I don't know what any of that is…"

"You'll learn. Race, Cook, and I are the ones assigned to the horse barn. Dunno what you are yet, but you'll have to get used to readying a horse and stuff for round-ups and whatnot." Sam replied with a shrug, ushering him back into the daylight—what little of it there was. "But it's dinnertime; so we'll go up to the house, and then we'll find someone else to show you around afterwards."

Charlie widened his eyes. "What do you mean find someone else to show me around? I've already been passed down twice, and now you're going to ditch me, too?" he asked, trotting after her and towards the main house.

Sam smirked over her shoulder. "I have a date in the tack room."

Charlie nearly choked. He was going to have to get used to everyone being blunt, rather than just him. He cautiously sat down beside Sam on the picnic bench that she had plopped down on. Race and Spot sat adjacently, arguing which position in baseball was better: catcher or pitcher. Cam kicked Race, who was sitting directly across from her and began to side with Spot, but both boys just gave each other a look and shook their heads, explaining that although Sam loved baseball, this was not an argument she was allowed an opinion on.

Charlie glanced toward the house, where Red and his wife were carrying out trays of food, a few other kids helping. He couldn't help but think that, so far, this facility was a lot like camp. And then the back door of the house opened again and Charlie's heart stopped. "_Who_ is _that_?" he asked in awe, earning himself a few snickers from the annoying duo in front of him. He hadn't felt this way since he'd seen Ginny as Hermia in the play.

Sam glanced up from Spot and Race's argument. "Her? That's Mallory Meszoly. Red's daughter."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Borrowed characters include Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins from _Newsies_, Mr. Sir from _Holes_, and a minor mention of James Cook from _Skins UK_. If I forgot any (since I do plan on using more characters that do not belong to me) feel free to point them out!


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie Dalton groaned the next morning when he heard a loud horn blare. "What the fuck…" he mumbled into his pillow before pulling it over his ears and tugging the thin covers that his tiny, spring-filled mattress was adorned with. He could hear the shuffling of the boys around him. Spot and Race had introduced him to the other boys that were doing time at the ranch the evening before, but none were too friendly. Pulling his head out from underneath his pillow, Charlie pouted to himself, watching as his bunkmates made their way through their morning ritual.

A smack on the back of his head got his attention and he whipped around to take in the sight of his attacker, raising an eyebrow. A boy with unkempt hair, a wicked grin, and eyes the color of the ocean stared down at him. "You better get up or you'll miss breakfast," he was informed from the boy he vaguely remembered being introduced to the other day.

Charlie sighed, licking his lips and dragging his fingers through his hair to try and get it into a reasonable style. Just because he was going to be hanging around hicks didn't mean he couldn't try and look decent. There was Mallory Meszoly to impress after all, even with his criminal record. He slipped from the bed with a nod to the boy that had so rudely awoken him, and plodded into the adjacent bathroom. Before he could even reach the showers, the same young man that had prodded him from his bed spoke up again. "You might want to wait until after the day is done to use your shower token…" he warned, scratching casually at his armpit since he was wearing nil a shirt, displaying a slim and toned torso.

Charlie blinked in surprise before sighing. Another gay guy? "Look…uh…" he tilted his head to the side.

"Cook," the boy before him supplied.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, Cook…I don't play for your team. I've already told Spot and Racetrack this, and—"

Cook's eyes grew wide before he let out a high pitched, highly amused laugh. "Oh man…you've got it all wrong. You're going to stank like a pig by the end of the day, and with only seven shower tokens, you're not gonna want to dirty your bed." Cook grinned again, licking his lips. "I play for my own team. That Sam chick…she's a real catch, but she's kind of got a thing for the cheerleader, so…" He shrugged.

Charlie just stared in utter confusion. It was as if this was a ranch for not only juvenile delinquents, but for sexually curious under-aged criminals as well.

Taking Cook's advice, Charlie made his way to an empty sink. That happened to be between Spot and Race. Why they needed a sink between them was beyond Charlie, until he noticed the seat of both of their pants. "We don't like getting dirty before we do our work," Spot explained when he noticed Charlie's glance. "We need distance or we'll maul each other."

Charlie couldn't exactly judge, considering he had mauled a few girls after staying the night at their place during the summer vacation months. He licked his lips and nodded awkwardly before splashing some water on his face and proceeding to brush his teeth. Once checking the mirror again to make sure his hair was at least decently appealing, he wandered back into the main room, clearing his throat and casting his eyes at the wood flooring, grabbing an undershirt and a navy blue work shirt his mother had supplied him with before slipping into jeans and the boots he had been issued yesterday after dinner.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he followed the rest of the boys as they exited the building at a sloth-like pace. Five in the morning was never pleasant to wake up to, especially when you knew the majority of the next hours you'd be expected to labor away in a barn.

Huddling next to Spot and Race as the boys awaited breakfast, Charlie glanced around in the dwindling darkness. From the opposite side of the main house a small group of girls made their way towards them. Sam was amongst the bunch, grinning at the Latino girl who was closely strutting along beside her. He heard Cook groan behind him and couldn't help but smirk. Sam winked when they were nearer, dragging her companion over. "Chaz, this is Santana. And yes, I realize you like Charlie better, so don't correct me. Santana, this is Charles. You probably don't like that either, but whatever."

Charlie took a deep breath to keep from getting annoyed so easily in the morning and extended his hand to shake. The girl dubbed as Santana raised an unimpressed eyebrow before glancing over at Sam. "This is what you wanted to shows me?" she asked, a small sneer crossing her lips.

Sam pouted slightly. "I thought he was cute…"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Of course he's cute. He's just not all that exciting at five in the morning. Maybe it's the lighting."

Charlie's jaw dropped as the girl insulted him right before his eyes. "You're not much either," he shot back, actually shrinking back and bumping into Race when Santana turned her gaze on him.

Sam held tightly onto Santana's arm as she attempted to advance upon him. "Razorblades. In my hair."

Charlie's brows rose. "Excuse me?"

Sam snorted. "Ignore her, Chaz. She's just upset that she has to go check on fencing with Mr. Sir all day…it's harrowing work."

Santana scowled. "That's not why I'm attacking this nosebleed, Sammy."

"Leave the boy alone, Tana…I'll make it up to you later." Sam grinned, pressing a kiss to Santana's cheek and wrapping an arm securely about her waist.

"Hey all," a voice from outside the group sounded, causing Charlie to perk up and lift his head, trying to see over his fellow delinquents. His jaw dropped before he could clap it shut, running a hand through his hair and trying to act cool when he saw that Mallory Meszoly was approaching from the darkness, holding an old fashioned lantern and leading her mother and Red towards the group of teens.

She set the lantern down on one of the picnic tables, reaching out and helping her mother with a tray of waffles while Red set some syrup and a jug of milk on the other side of the table. "Line on up then," he barked as his wife went to grab plates, glasses, and silverware.

Charlie found himself squished between Sam and Cook, awaiting the food and ignoring the shoving. Sam turned around and grinned. "Now you actually get to talk to her, lover boy," she informed him before spinning and grabbing Santana's butt just for kicks. Charlie rolled his eyes, remaining silent as he got closer to where Mallory was dishing out waffles. He could feel a flush rise on his cheeks, unusual for his character, and he wiped his sweaty palms on his new jeans.

Taking the plate shakily from Mal, who smiled kindly at him, he bobbed his head. "Thanks…" he mumbled, hurrying away and plopping down next to Spot on a bench, staring over his shoulder as Mal continued to help feed the rest of the teenagers.

"You are too smooth," he heard Santana remark.

Licking his lips, he ignored the ornery girl, just content with staring. "Yeah, well…when I get her in the tack room, you'll be eating your words." He blinked, raising an eyebrow at his own words. Had he just created a challenge for himself?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Borrowed characters include: James Cook, Spot Conlon, Racetrack Higgins, Charlie Dalton, Santana Lopez. I think that's it. Oh, and Mr. Sir.


End file.
